


maybe i'm defective, or maybe i'm dumb.

by penrosequartz



Series: PRQ's Marvel Extravaganza [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Cars, Christmas Presents, Deaf Clint Barton, F/F, F/M, Guns, Hydra (Marvel), Introspection, Kinda, Logan Lucky - Freeform, M/M, Multi, New Year's Eve, Nightmares, Oops, Parallel Universes, Past Clint Barton/Laura Barton, Platonic Soulmates, Polyamory, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates, The universe fucked up, Watching Movies, at least not yet, clubs, falling asleep, i write too much dialogue so i'm trying to cut down, no one knows bruce is the hulk, partially, so much for cutting down on dialogue, they weren't married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-07 01:45:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12830700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penrosequartz/pseuds/penrosequartz
Summary: One night, Clint dreamt about a young man sitting across from him in a cafe, speaking a foreign language, and it was shocking on several levels.





	1. ice and stars and metal

**Author's Note:**

> a) i was brought up on dreamt not dreamed and you can fucking catch these hands, fam. i see that wiggly red line under the word. google spellcheck can catch my fricking fingeys and hecking handsies.  
> b) oh look another hawksilver fic what a surprise  
> c) more tags will be added once i know what the fuck this is

[playlist for this fic mood on spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/penrosequartz/playlist/3QvV1YrAAtA2rt4w5HDXWy)

 

One night, Clint dreamt about a young man sitting across from him in a cafe. The man was speaking to a woman wearing red, in a foreign language – Eastern European, Clint thought, maybe Serbian, but he couldn’t be sure. That had always been Natasha’s area. And there, to his left, also speaking to the red woman – in the same language? – was the Black Widow herself.

Clint jolted awake. He wasn’t sweating, wasn’t panicked – well, okay, maybe he was freaking out a _little –_ and it hadn’t been a nightmare. It was... nice. It had been a long, long time since Clint had been sent nice dreams.

So yeah, one night, Clint dreamt about a young man sitting across from him in a cafe, speaking a foreign language, and it was shocking on several levels.

First of all: he remembered those kinds of dreams. He remembered the way that the honey-smelling fog of his mind smelled, the way Natasha’s hair curled, the way she was poised like a cat ready to run. Originally, the dreams hadn’t been too troubling, but as they repeated night after night, he began to wonder if they meant something. He was right - they did. He’d been briefed on the mission. As soon as he saw her face in that file, he knew what to do, he smirked when he finally approached her. And she stood there, shocked, and she _still_ tried to kill him like the good little spider she was. So he told Fury to help her defect and to recruit her.

It was the best decision he’d ever made, and kind of also the worst, because while Natasha had been in some serious shit, he had also gotten her into some serious shit.

This dream was different, but the same - it smelled different, smelled like ice and stars and felt like metal on his tongue. The same daze of the dream was there, fog creeping in and addling his senses. It was unmistakably the same kind of dream he’d dreamt of Natasha.

Clint got up, pulled on a sweater that he’d found lying in his room - it was grey, and huge, so it was probably Bruce’s. Banner seemed to have a thing for oversized sweaters, and Clint could kind of see the appeal. It made him feel safe. Although, Clint generally liked to have his arms as free as possible.

If it was the same kind of dream, but different, that meant one thing: soon enough, he was going to meet another of his soulmates.

Which was terrifying, honestly.

Clint had begun to dream about Natasha a few weeks before he'd met her, and he was lucky to have met any of his soulmates at all. Some didn't meet any of theirs, but when you had a job like Hawkeye (or a job like Black Widow) you saw a lot more of the world than other people. But according to Natasha, she'd dreamt of him only once, the night before they met. Clint knew people who had met their soulmates in dreams but only really met them at their funerals, people who dreamt of their soulmates years before they made contact. Clint knew people who had killed their soulmates and people who'd been killed by their soulmates.

He kind of didn't want to meet this guy now, he thought, and that brought it back to the fact that this new soulmate of his was a  _guy,_ which could either be perfectly fine or give him an literal identity crisis. If the soulmate was platonic, like Natasha had been, then cool, new brother from another mother. If not, what the ever-loving fuck.

Clint had always liked girls. Always. His only _really_ serious partner (because relationships were pretty impermanent when someone could get a weird dream at any second), had been Laura, who he'd been with for years before... you know. HYDRA came along and fucked everything up. As usual. "Fucking everything up" meaning killing Laura and giving Clint terrible PTSD.

So, Clint guessed, maybe he hadn't really had much relationship experience. 

Also: this guy, Clint thought back to his dream, was young. Like, between them they'd have a foot in the cradle  _and_ a foot in the grave.

Or maybe that was an exaggeration.

But whatever.

Clint went back, back to the dream as he made himself a black coffee with three sugars (because Clint was a pussy who couldn't handle anything unless it was sweeter than, I don't know, that kid's smile). Jesus, that smile - and those eyes, eyes like ice and stars and metal. Striking as a lightning bolt, and t-shirt stretched across slender but muscular shoulders, and ye _ah,_ looks like Clint is gayer than he originally thought.

The archer blushed into his coffee, taking in the early morning kitchen. Maybe he should go check on Tony - the idiot was probably still awake after about 36 hours of caffeine-induced engineering. He stood, his back groaning, and he was suddenly reminded of the toll the last mission had taken on him. He'd left his hearing aids by his bed.

* * *

Clint and Natasha had left S.H.I.E.L.D., and then they'd joined forces with Tony Stark to defeat several HYDRA plots, and somewhere along the way Captain America had turned up and had started lecturing them, and then they'd saved his life, so he was with them now, apparently. It was all very complicated and Clint thought there were some aliens in there somewhere and maybe even time travel, and it hurt his head to even think about it. And so, Clint, Natasha, Captain America, and some of Tony's random friends were all living at Stark tower along with the prodigal son himself.

In fact, here's the full list:

  * Tony Stark, AKA Iron Man, who seemed very glittery and controlled on the outside but actually spent days awake without eating, building random shit down in his workshop. Apparently, he got bored real easy and was completely and utterly addicted to caffeine.
  * Steve Rogers, AKA fucking _Captain America_ , who was a righteous pain in the ass but was actually pretty entertaining once you got to know him, and was annoying good at cards. He and Tony fought a lot, but Clint could tell they'd _dreamt_ about eachother before, if you caught his drift.
  * Clint himself, who basically spent his time shooting arrows or video game characters.
  * Natasha, who trained and went on missions and was good at her job _and_ a good person, which Clint was really trying to be (even though it wasn't really working). She was usually the one who dragged the team (were they a team?) out of the tower to a club every now and then. Which wasn't very her, but Clint guessed she needed them to loosen up instead of rolling around in anxiety and alcohol and going at eachother's throats.
  * Pepper "Kiss My Ass" Potts, who was one of the coolest people Clint had ever met, and was one of Tony's soulmates (platonic - Clint  _thought_ , but you could never really tell with Stark).
  * Colonel James Rhodes, occasionally, but not always, lived at the tower. Tony's always kept a room free for him. He was another of Tony's soulmates - how the man had met  _three_ Clint would never understand.
  * Bruce Banner, a scientist, who meditated a lot and talked about molecules and radiation with Tony like they were everyday small-talk subjects, like the weather, or whether the dress was black and blue, or white and gold.



Clint was pretty confused by all the relationships in the tower. Pepper was definitely eyeing up Natasha but maybe so was Bruce and were Bruce and Tony a thing or? Who knew. They were all getting really close, way too close for Clint's liking, because it felt like family, and if S.H.I.E.L.D. had taught Clint anything, it was that deep connections like that were dangerous. Soulmates were fine if they were going to fight alongside you, because you could throw everything you had into having their back, and if your soulmate fell, then you were not expected to get back up. But 7 people together, fighting together, was a significant risk. Everyone was a weak point.

And now Clint was walking past the TV room where they all watched movies and ate pizza and fell asleep and accidentally put on eachother's clothes (Bruce's sweater was  _really_ comfy actually, Clint was gonna ask him where he bought it). And then he was walking down, down to Tony's workshop, to check on a millionaire. Billionaire?

Clint spent his life in an eternal state of confusion these days.

And now, now he was even more confused - blue eyes  **white hair?** shoulders  **colgate ice ridge smile** whoever he was, he'd completely killed Clint Barton. He hoped the funeral was nice. 

"Is that my sweater?" a voice asked, and Bruce was coming up the stairs as Clint descended. The archer blinked, before looking down at the soft grey wool.

"Yeah, uh. Sorry. It was in my room," Clint replied, and he'd meant to ask Bruce something, what was it-

"Right," Bruce nodded vaguely, "I was gonna ask if you were okay, but then I saw my sweater and my brain was like 'what?' Anyway. You look a little dazed, buddy."

Clint frowned. His brain was still waking up, but at least his hearing aids were working (even though Clint may or may not have spilt Red Bull on them a couple of nights ago).

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Clint gave Bruce a small smile and received one in return, “I was just wondering how Tony's doing. Is he still awake?”

“No, I’m getting Steve,” Bruce sighed, “He’ll carry him to bed - he passed out at his bench.”

“Well, at least he's not dead,” Clint smirked, “Okay. I’m gonna go see if Nat’s awake. I gotta ask her about something.”

Bruce gave him a quizzical look, and Clint felt the thoughts rushing through his head.

_why did i say that out loud why did i say that out loud shit shitshit what if he asks_

But Bruce just looked at him like he was suspending Clint in the air with his eyes, and nodded.

“Fair enough,” the scientist murmured.

“Okay bye,” Clint said quickly, practically running back up the stairs.


	2. silver gel pens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soulmates are generated by the universe, but the universe is chaotic and dumb. The universe needs to get its shit together, in fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just what i wrote today so it's super short sorry

“Nat?” Clint knocked on the door.

“Clint?” Natasha’s voice sounded off.

“Can I come in? I have to ask you about something,” He bit his lip.

“Okay,” came her quiet response.

He glanced at the panel on the wall, which was still red.

“It’s locked, spider,” He huffed.

“Right,” the muffled voice sounded exasperated, “JARVIS, unlock my door please.”

“Of course, Miss Romanov,” the British-accented household AI answered, and the door slid open to reveal Natasha in a singlet and tracksuit pants, eyes rimmed red and tissues barely hidden under blankets.

“Well, hi,” Clint said gently, “What’s wrong?”

“What did you want to ask me about?” Natasha cleared her throat, ignoring Clint’s question.

“I had a dream-” Clint began, and Natasha’s head shot up.

“Was there a woman wearing a red dress?” Natasha asked quickly.

“Uh…” Clint frowned, but no, the woman hadn't been wearing a _dress_ , it was a jacket, wasn't it?

“There was a woman wearing _red…_ ? _”_ Clint offered, and Natasha groaned, flopping back onto her bed and sniffing. Clint slid the door shut behind him.

“So,” Clint jumped onto Natasha’s grey blanket and crossed his legs.

“So, I had a _dream_ last night _,_ which means she’s one of my soulmates, and I don't need another one to look after,” Natasha pursed her lips, wiping her eyes.

“Hey!” Clint grinned, before the smile fell from his face, “You _know_ it's not your fault, Nat.”

“I wasn't there to stop it, not the first time, not the second time,” Natasha turned and curled into herself, face contorting.

“It’s okay,” Clint sighed, moving closer and stretching out his arms, “Come here. It’s okay. We don't have to worry about that anymore. HYDRA is weak, they’ll fall, and then we never have to go on another mission again.”

“Never ever?” She asked, grasping around him, warm and close and _actually there._

“Never ever,” Clint agreed.

They sat in silence for a moment.

“I just… I won't be able to protect her, whoever she is, I know I won't,” Natasha said, voice small and broken.

“Maybe you won't have to,” Clint shrugged, “Maybe she’s a civilian, and she’ll live here with you and make cookies and draw you pictures while we're away taking down HYDRA, and then when HYDRA are gone, we can all go on holiday and-”

“HYDRA will never _be_ gone,” Natasha sounded defeated, “They'll come back, stronger than ever, and besides - she's not a civilian. She can do things. Like. Freaky things.”

Clint stifled a laugh, because Natasha was right, HYDRA would never be truly gone, but “freaky things” was the best thing he'd ever heard in that moment.

“What sort of ‘freaky things?’” Clint pulled back from the hug, wiggling his fingers spookily.

Natasha rolled her eyes, but her mouth formed a straight line.

“She has… powers. Of some kind,” She explained.

“Like that thunder guy?” Clint asked, and she shook her head.

“Just, weird stuff. Magic,” Natasha tried, and let out an exhausted noise.

“So you obviously slept...” Clint raised an eyebrow, eyes running over Natasha’s tired face, “But for how long?”

“Not long,” Natasha admitted.

“Okay, coffee, and then we can gossip about our new soulmates like teenagers,” Clint grinned, awkwardly getting off Natasha’s bed.

“No one meets their soulmate when they're a teenager,” Natasha scowled, pulling the tissues out from under her sheets.

“They looked young enough to be teenagers,” Clint huffed.

“Don't say that,” Natasha flicked his arm, “And do you mean they as a plural or as a gender-neutral pronoun?”

“Plural,” Clint frowned, going to the door, “There were two people, who’d I’d never met, in my dream.”

He swiped his hand in front of the door panel to open the door.

“Right,” Natasha nodded, “But only one was your soulmate?”

“Apparently,” and Clint thought back once again, back to the silver gel pen sketch of a guy that had been sitting across from him, sipping a milkshake.

“Get that dopey look off your face, unless you want Stark to guess,” Natasha threatened, and Clint put on his game face and made his way to the kitchen, completely forgetting that Tony was probably in bed. Possibly with Captain America.

* * *

 

Clint slammed a mug of hot coffee down on the table.

“Talk,” he demanded.

“We were at a club-” Natasha began, and Clint pulled his mobile out of his tracksuit pocket.

“Which club?” The archer interrupted, opening the notes on his phone.

“Marquee?”

Clint took it down. “Right. Go on.”

“This feels like an interrogation,” Natasha narrowed her eyes and picked up the black mug, sniffing the coffee with suspicion.

Clint watched her expectantly as she took a sip. When Natasha sighed and nodded, Clint smiled - coffee, right heat, right taste, just the way she liked it.

“This woman was… dancing with me,” Natasha grinned when Clint gave her a wink. Black Widow had already had her identity crisis a long time ago - maybe that was why Clint was handling his impending self-destruction so well.

“Well, then she took me outside and asked me if I was the Black Widow. She said her and her brother needed help. A-and then-”

Natasha’s voice faltered.

“You tell yours now, please,” She said quietly, “I need to try and make sense of what happened.”

“Okay,” Clint gave her a worried look, and tapped his hands on the tabletop, “Well, you and I were in a diner with these two people. This woman - in red, I think she might be your girl-”

“I don't think so, somehow,” Natasha interrupted.

Clint furrowed his brow in confusion, but continued, “Well, you were talking to her like you knew her, but I’d never seen her before. And sitting next to her, across from me…”

Clint gulped.

“What?” Natasha caught sight of the nervous expression on Clint’s face.

“Uh. There was this guy-”

“Блядь,” Natasha grinned, “That look on your face, you were thinking about a _guy-”_

“Shh! What if JARVIS hears you and tells Stark? I’ll never live it down,” Clint hissed.

“My lips are sealed, Mister Barton,” came a British voice from some hidden speaker.

“Exactly,” Natasha smirked, “Besides, Tony would only be having a little fun, he'd never do anything bad because of that. He’s probably giving Captain America a blow job right now.”

“Thanks for that image, I’m gonna go clean my brain,” Clint groaned.

“Anyway,” Natasha smiled, “You’re going to meet a romantic soulmate! Or is this purely a sexual thing?”

Clint shook his head, “Obviously I don't know him, like, at all, but I don't think it's just sex… he- I don't know how to describe it, he has this smile-”

“Oh, god, another gross couple on the team,” Natasha giggled.

“Shut up,” Clint sighed, before setting his face in stone, “Now, please tell me what happened, Nat.”

Natasha’s face grew cold and sad. She looked empty, like she'd poured all the life out of her.

“I think she was shot,” she whispered, eyes wide.

“What?” Clint’s stomach dropped. No. Nononono-

“All I remember, all the dream let me see was her _face,_ and the gunshot. Clint,” Natasha choked on his name, “What if the first time I meet her is when she _dies?”_

“No, that's- that's not gonna happen, okay? Look at me,” Clint grabbed her hands, “I’m _sure_ it was her in my dream, 100 percent. And you knew her, in the dream, you _did_. Which means that she's alive and she’s gonna introduce me to her brother, and we're all gonna go on holiday, remember? It’s- it’s going to be fun. She’s okay. Just… trust me. Please?”

“Okay,” Natasha’s hair bounced as she nodded numbly, and three things hit Clint simultaneously:

  1. Natasha had to have that same dream every night for who knows how long.
  2. The chances of them both dreaming of their soulmates on the same night was so incredibly slim- it was just fucking weird, you know? Wow.
  3. If it wasn't Natasha’s girl in his dream, then one of Natasha’s soulmates was probably dead, and that was the most terrible thing Clint could imagine.



Later, as they sat, hands still clasped together at the table in silence, Natasha suddenly piped up.

“I wonder if her brother has powers too?”

Clint wondered that as well, and he also wondered when his life had become so weird that having a discussion about people with superpowers seemed perfectly normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got the russian off google translate so it's probably wrong


	3. red string in the early, early morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *bad southern accent*  
> Cauliflower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta-d and generally terrible but more stuff is going to happen soon. this fic basically has no plot. i hate myself

_that’s a gunshot, that was definitely a gunshot. shit, shit, she’s going to die_ **_she’s beautiful_ ** _she’s like red string in the early, early morning. my soulmate is going to die_ **_everything hurts_ ** _where’s clint? where’s clint? where’s clint? i’m going to kill whoever did this_ **_why does it hurt so bad?_ **

Natasha woke, tears streaming down her face. She woke to Steve’s - woah, she was on a first-name basis with Captain America - Steve’s worried face and Bruce’s wide eyes and Clint, Clint, where’s Clint? She’d fallen asleep. How could she be so _dumb?_ Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Where’s Clint?” She said, trying to speak through the lump in her throat.

“He- he went to get pizza. You fell asleep, are you okay?” Bruce asked concernedly, sweater paws clenching and unclenching by his sides.

Natasha stayed silent.

“Okay, so we’ve got Cars-” Tony entered the room before freezing.

“What?” Came Pepper’s confused voice from behind him. She was still in the hallway, unable to see Natasha’s tear-tracked face.

“Uh. Do you want me to…?” Tony gestured behind him, but Natasha shook her head.

“No, you can. Come in. Please,” she shivered a little.

_‘She fell asleep,’_ Steve mouthed at Tony and Pepper.

“I can see you,” Natasha huffed, “Don’t do that.”

Pepper crept in, stepping in front of Tony and standing before Natasha. “So, bad dream?” She asked.

Bad dream? Yes, bad dream. Bad, bad bad! You should feel ashamed of yourself! No, not a bad dream, a terrible dream, a dream that meant certain death pretty much no matter which way you looked at it - or at least grave injury. Natasha felt like _she’d_ been shot, felt like someone had taken every part of her body and _pulled,_ and then wound it tight, tighter. There was a hole in her chest and a lump in her throat and she looked like a fucking crybaby in front of Captain America - Steve. And Tony Stark.

“I’ve had my fair share of those,” Tony flopped down on a ridiculously luxurious beanbag in front of the absolutely huge couch, facing the group.

“My usual strategy is to not think about it and then stay awake for days-” Tony was cut off with a glare from Pepper.

“What? I’m telling her to _not_ do that!” Tony exclaimed, looking back to Natasha, “Don't do that. Bad, bad plan.”

“Thanks for your brilliant advice,” Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Steve asked awkwardly.

“Not really,” Natasha sighed, “But it's something you should probably know.”

Bruce gave her a questioning look.

“Can we maybe wait for Clint to get back?” Natasha asked.

“Sure,” Pepper gave her a comforting smile, and the smile lit something up inside Natasha, something warm.

 

* * *

 

“Pizza!” Clint called, bursting into the room with a stack of thin cardboard boxes.

“Yes!” Tony exclaimed, “Okay, so we can watch Cars or Logan Lucky.”

“Logan Lucky,” Pepper said immediately.

“What’s Cars?” Steve asked.

“It’s a cornerstone of memes and animation. A true American icon,” Clint laughed.

“Well, we should watch that,” Steve nodded decidedly.

“I am _not_ watching Cars,” Pepper scowled at the archer.

“Let's just watch both,” Bruce attempted to mediate.

“Well, before we do that,” Tony pointed to the empty space beside Natasha, and Clint noticed that she seemed quiet, hurt.

He sat down next to his best friend.

“What's… you fell asleep,” he realised, “Didn't you?”

“Yeah,” Natasha sighed, and Clint died a little inside at the expression on her face.

“So, are you…?” Clint squinted and turned his head a little, trying to figure out what her plan was.

“Alright, everyone,” Natasha clenched her jaw, “I am going to meet another of my soulmates soon. I think that she is injured in my dream, so we need to be prepared.”

“Prepared,” Steve commented tiredly.

“That's… that's terrible,” Pepper said quietly, “I’m so sorry. Is she… do you know if she’s okay? Or, will be?”

“Yes,” Clint answered, without really thinking about what he was about to say, “She was in my dream - like, _that_ kind of dream. I had one last night, and Natasha and her were in it. They knew each other.”

“And if they knew each other,” Bruce said brightly, “Then she’ll live!”

“Are you sure it's her?” Tony asked Clint, who visibly winced.

“Yep,” Clint replied unconvincingly.

“Well, what did she look like?” Steve questioned.

“She had long brown hair,” Clint sighed, “And she was wearing red. A red jacket.”

“That's not very specific,” Natasha deadpanned, before apologising, “Not your fault. Just, you know, saying.”

“So, is she your soulmate too?” Pepper turned to Clint, sitting next to Natasha on the woman’s other side, “If she was in your dream?”

“Uh, no,” Clint shook his head, “No, she - Natasha’s girl - knew the other person in my dream. My other soulmate. It's her brother, I think.”

Clint realised what he'd just said and tried to play it cool.

“Yeah,” He added unnecessarily.

Pepper and Tony shared a look, and Bruce grinned. Only Steve seemed oblivious.

“Oh! So you're going to meet another platonic soulmate? What does he look like?” The super soldier assumed.

“Uh… he looks…”

_cocky funny fit sarcastic **that smile of his** he looks like ice blue embroidery and snow on your nikes he looks _ **_beautiful_ **

“He has white hair?” Clint settled, “And he likes milkshakes, apparently.”

“What kind?” Bruce’s eyes widened.

“Vanilla?” Clint tried to remember, and felt blessed when Bruce nodded approvingly.

“Classy man,” the scientist smirked, winking at Clint. The archer felt himself go red.

Steve glanced between Tony (barely stifling laughter), Bruce (literally not stifling his laughter at all), Natasha (looking shocked), and Clint, who kind of looked like a tomato.

“Am I missing something?” Captain America frowned.

“Don't think too hard about it, babe,” Tony smiled, and then it was Steve going red.

“So, Logan Lucky, then Cars - which we’re _all_ watching, fuck you, Potts,” Tony continued as if nothing had happened, which both Natasha and Clint greatly appreciated.

“You realise it’s almost 12PM,” Pepper pointed out, glancing at Clint, “Where did you even get pizza at this time of night?”

“I know a guy,” Clint laughed, and Natasha mouthed _Sam Wilson._

“What did you all do today?” Steve asked.

“I slept,” Tony shrugged, “Built a toaster that also dispenses painkillers - don't look at me like that, Pepper.”

“I read over some files with you,” Clint reminded Steve, “And I throttled Bruce at a video game.”

“You always win at shooting ones, it's not fair!” Bruce whined.

“JARVIS, play Logan Lucky,” Tony commanded, and the massive screen on the other side of the room lit up.

“I trained,” Natasha huffed.

“Well,” Pepper smoothed her skirt, “I made a massive deal, I sent Steve intel I found, and went to a lunch with a few people.”

“Nice,” Bruce leaned over Steve to give Pepper a high five.

“Shh,” Tony said from his beanbag, reaching for a pizza box, “It’s starting.”

 

* * *

 

“Cauliflower,” Clint said in a southern accent.

“Shut up,” Bruce groaned.

_“Cauliflower,”_ Clint repeated.

_“Shut up,”_ Tony hissed, “This is an emotional moment for Lightning McQueen and you're ruining it with your horrific Virginian accent.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey,” Pepper smiled at Natasha. Clint and Bruce stumbled out of the room, whispering about sleep and “I can’t even see.”

“Hey,” Natasha grinned back, before rubbing her eyes, “Fuck, I’m tired.”

“Weaklings,” Tony inspected his nails.

“Your super soldier boyfriend is passed out on the couch,” Natasha raised an eyebrow at the sleeping figure of Steve, “So, you know. I feel justified.”

“He's not my boyfriend,” Tony rolled his eyes, “He's in denial, I think. Complicated is the official Facebook status.”

“Seriously?” Natasha asked, shocked, and both Pepper and Tony nodded.

“I thought he was a soulmate?” Natasha inquired, and Clint’s voice came from down the hallway.

“Ah, fuck. Nat! Help me?”

“I better go see what he's done now,” Natasha sighed, “But I want all the ‘juicy deets’ later.”

“Bye, spider girl,” Tony grinned, and Natasha scowled.

“Don't call me that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry about the cars thing but i have an obsession with the avengers watching the cars movies


	4. a metaphoric edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Firearm conversations, dream rumination, Christmas, and a realisation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR MAKING Y'ALL WAIT SO LONG things happened and christmas stuff and the end of school and just  
> ew  
> stress  
> so sorry have this short and terrible piece of shit

“So after I put you two to bed last night,” Natasha smiled a little when Bruce and Clint scowled, “Tony had already gone down to his workshop again, so I went to talk to Pepper.”

“She was still up?” Clint asked quizzically over his muesli.

“Neither of them ever stop working,” Natasha shook her head, “It’s unhealthy.”

“And?” Bruce prompted.

“We… talked,” Natasha told them delicately.

“Talked,” Clint deadpanned, reaching over and stealing a slice of Natasha’s bacon, “You guys fucked, didn't you.”

Bruce laughed, “Oh my god.” Then the scientist paused, going a little red.

“Stop imagining it, you perv!” Clint exclaimed, smacking Bruce on the side of the head.

“Sorry!” Bruce hid his face in his hands, “It’s just, they're both _very_ attractive!”

Natasha huffed, “Yeah, I know. I made such a good assassin because- well, because I’m great at my job, but I’m also hot, so it was easy to _lure in dumb guys_.”

Bruce looked mildly offended as she continued, “That's not why I’m telling you this. I- it was a mistake. I’m screwed.”

“You _were_ screwed, you mean,” Clint smirked.

“I think you'll find I did the screwing,” Natasha fired back, and Clint laughed, “But, seriously, Barton. Whenever I sleep I see _her_ face, and then I went and slept with Pepper. I just… what do I do?”

There was a hush. It wasn't early, per se, but it was still morning. Steve was probably training with Rhodey and maybe even Tony. Pepper was probably - definitely - in her office. So the trio had the kitchen and dining room to themselves, filled with the static sound of thinking and the breakfast cutlery-crockery scrape.

“Okay,” Clint spoke up, thinking about the ice shard in the diner, his grin like a Nike logo in the dark, hidden in the pink of his lips. The image was turned sour by his realisation that as he had dreamt this clean alpine breeze of a guy, his best friend was haunted by magic and bloodstains.

“This is what we're going to do,” Clint cleared his throat, “We're going to go to that club-”

“It’s not the right time yet, it’s too soon,” Natasha interjected, “I can feel it.”

“Let me finish,” Clint frowned and Natasha mimed zipping her mouth, “Whenever the ‘time is right,’ or whatever, we’ll go, and we’ll be prepared.”

“Right,” Bruce rested his elbow on the table, then rested his head on his hand, “Prepared meaning…?”

“Ah, fuck, I don’t know,” Clint put his forehead on the glass tabletop, “Bring guns?”

“My soulmate is going to be shot, and your solution is to bring more guns?” Natasha groaned, “What are you, a promo poster for the NRA?”

 

* * *

 

Natasha had always known what to do. Target? Kill shot. Mission? Completed. But now, now… she felt completely directionless. She knew that there was something that she should be doing, but it felt like there was no up, no down, and she couldn’t even breathe, let alone think about what she had to do next. She felt a burning urge to train, but she knew that if she started she wouldn't stop until she fell apart and Clint had to piece her back together.

She liked Pepper. She liked Bruce, too, actually. She liked people and their bodies and their happy little lives but she never got attached because she knew that _she couldn’t have that._ She couldn’t have what they had. Neither her nor Clint could, she knew that while he now dreamt of his vanilla-milkshake drinking soulmate, as soon as the two met, those dreams would fade and Clint would be left with the nightmares of empty eyes and animal fur and blood and death beyond the glass.

And now she was back to thinking of the metallic taste in her mouth and the way she dreaded how the woman in red took her hand so excitedly, how she was nervous but happy and cautious but so, so ready to tell Natasha everything.

Natasha wondered if her dream was longer than her soulmate’s. Clint’s only seemed to be a flash, just for a second, from how he described it. But Natasha’s was minutes of dread and worry and yet... happiness - she’d found her, she’d found another soulmate.

Maybe the crimson girl’s dream was short. Maybe she didn’t know what was about to happen to her.

Was that better, or worse?

 

* * *

 

“Let’s do something,” Tony piped up, picking up the other half of his sandwich.

Rhodey was there, and they were all sat around the table. Steve and Pepper and Clint had been working hard all day, finding information and getting S.H.I.E.L.D. to give them little bits and pieces here and there to patch their timeline together. Natasha felt a little bad - she’d been in the pool most of the afternoon, feeling the water against her skin, wondering exactly what magic her soulmate could perform, and if Clint’s milkshake guy had any abilities.

“Like what?” Pepper yawned, “And why are you eating a sandwich, Tony? It’s way too late for lunch.”

“Well, you see, Ms. Potts, I like bread,” Tony said, mouth full, and everyone around the table flinched away from the disgusting spectacle.

“Well… right,” Pepper said, frowning. Rhodey rolled his eyes.

“I was thinking we could go to a gallery or something,” Tony swallowed, “Stick Cap in a museum, maybe.”

Both Clint and Natasha tensed, and Clint felt his soulmate shoot him a glance.

“Very funny, Stark,” Steve groaned, “Sounds good, though.”

“We could see a movie,” Natasha threw in.

“I wanna see a movie,” Bruce said excitedly, “We could see-”

“We have our _own theatre,_ Banner,” Tony sighed, taking his plate to the sink.

“It’s the experience,” Bruce argued, and that was that - they were off to the cinema with Natasha clutching Clint’s hand tightly, and he knew that he was hiding again but he didn’t know how to stop. At least he didn’t have to go to a fucking museum again.

Clint didn't remember what movie they ended up seeing - they'd seen so many recently that it was probably unhealthy. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he noted that it was almost Christmas, which meant he should be getting gifts for everyone at the Tower, maybe sending Coulson a card or something. The thought made him laugh a little before sobbing into his pillow for an hour. When Natasha finally found him the only thing he could think was that he should _not_ be this upset - not when Natasha might never get to give her _soulmate_ a god damn Christmas card.

Natasha herself had really taken Tony’s advice-that-was-totally-not-advice to heart. Dark circles of sleep avoidance hung under her eyes, and she hardly ever went outside anymore, so she generally didn't bother to put concealer over them.

She slept with Pepper. She slept with Bruce. They knew what they were getting themselves into - Natasha did love them both, but it wasn't them she dreamt about at night. Although, she didn't think anyone would want to switch places with her soulmate. Not with that gunshot echoing around her head 24/7.

The most significant thing, for Clint, was that Natasha - when she wasn't sleeping with her _other_ significant others, generally separately, but who knew - Natasha was sleeping with him.

Not like that, but she _was_ sleeping in Clint’s bed. The most confused about the entire situation was Steve, who saw them both come out of Clint’s room one morning, hair tousled, and had immediately made… certain assumptions.

“So… are you two…?” Steve frowned, trying to puzzle things out, but he left his sentence unfinished. Clint and Natasha went to the kitchen to get coffee, and Steve slowly followed.

When both Pepper and Bruce gave Natasha a kiss on the cheek over eggs (and muesli again for Clint, because letting him near a stove or a microwave was always a mistake), Steve’s forehead crease deepened.

“I… don't understand,” his eyes flickered between them, “I… what?”

“Don't think too hard about it, honey,” Tony smirked, “We’re a modern family. Besides, you've got other things to be _hard_ about.”

Tony smacked Steve’s ass, and the table let out a groan as Captain America went completely red. Steve had been standing at the time, holding his plate, and Tony had been behind him holding his coffee. Needless to say, the Tower lost a plate that day.

And when it finally was Christmas, Clint gave everyone t-shirts. They weren't exactly traditional, but he loved that - Bruce’s said “I’m a stoner but can you prove it in court?” Tony’s was one of those ones that had the entire script of Cars on it. Pepper’s quite literally had an outline of Virginia state, a pepper grinder, and a weed leaf. She wore it to an official lunch on a dare.

He bought Steve’s at a shop in the city. It was a struggle getting one that fit across his shoulders but find one he did - it said “IRON MAN ROCKS MY WORLD”.

Clint had crossed out “WORLD” in fabric marker and written “BED” underneath.

“I’m… thanks, Barton. but I’m not wearing this,” Steve cringed at the red shirt he was holding in front of himself when he finally opened his Christmas gift.

2 days later, Clint saw him grinning at it, laughing almost manically, and then the supersoldier put it on.

“Why?” Clint asked.

“Why not?” Steve replied.

Clint thought that was fair enough, but he still got Steve a glass of water and told him to sit down.

He even bought Rhodey one. It just had a van with arms growing out of it on it. Rhodey said it was brilliant.

But Natasha’s took the cake - not a t-shirt, this time, but a jacket. Embroidered… with spiders.

“You look like a badass,” Clint had said when she put it on.

“Was I not already?” She asked, smiling, flipping her hair, and it was nearly a month since Clint had seen her so happy. And they still hadn't found the HYDRA agent who’d fucked it all up, their mission since it had happened, but then other things had happened, and everyone’s mental health was sort of sitting on a metaphoric edge, and it was just so easy to get sidetracked into the mundane trap of personal attachments and Christmas presents and crying because _Sam put_ **_anchovies_ ** _on his pizza, the bastard._

And then, three days after Christmas, Natasha sat bolt upright in bed in the middle of the night.

“Wuzzgoinon?” Clint squinted in the grey dark.

“I didn't notice it before,” Natasha whispered to him, her breathing ragged, “But, Robin Hood, we might just be in luck.”

“Okay, first of all, don't call me that. That makes you little John,” Clint yawned, “And second, what the fuck.”

“There's a countdown. In my dream,” Natasha said, a nervous smile on her face, juxtaposed with the tears slipping from her eyes. “I can feel that we're supposed to meet soon, and there's a _countdown._ ”

“New Year’s,” Clint realised, before his eyes slid shut again. He was so fucking tired.

“Guess we can't go to Sam’s pizza party,” he managed to mumble before he fell asleep, dead to the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there you go fam! tune in sometime next week maybe? for what will probably be nat and wanda's first meeting


	5. worse, worse, worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it's worse than it looks, or seems, it's worse than expected, or imagined, and Clint can smell the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well this is going to be a Wild Ride  
> i wrote this far quicker than i expected to. the writing style is very... panicked, mostly because everyone in it is panicking, so. enjoy?  
> this is pretty much fresh off the keys so it's basically edited. i'll go back and change things later, probably, but i'm posting it now, because i don't want to deprive y'all

For the first time - shockingly - Natasha found herself wondering about the red woman’s voice. It was quite beautiful, actually, and Natasha almost thought her accent was Russian but that's wasn't quite it. Definitely close to it, and so Natasha did some research and discovered that there was an absolute hive of HYDRA activity in a small country called Sokovia.

As she read the country’s name, she got flashes of buildings crumbling into grey and a smudge of green against the sky. She didn't know why - maybe it was from a movie.

So maybe Sokovia was the answer, and since Clint was still asleep, she threw herself into research over the next couple of hours.

And it seemed like Sokovia really was the answer - Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, missing, HYDRA searching for them all over the globe.

And now Natasha had a name, and knew why her soulmate needed help, and Wanda Maximoff sounded like _music_ to her.

_Wanda Maximoff._

But there wasn’t a picture on the shady-ass website she was on, just a description. But from what Clint had told her, it really did sound like Wanda’s brother, Pietro, was Clint’s milkshake guy.

She really had to stop calling him Clint’s milkshake guy.

 

* * *

 

It was Clint’s coffee that told him something was wrong.

That night, Steve was making them all wear bulletproof vests, but “low-key, you know.” Clint felt that something was wrong long before they were all getting ready to go.

It was the coffee, it really was.

Clint, that morning, had discovered that they’d run out of sugar - which literally _never_ happened, and then he’d had to drink a really gross, bitter coffee. And then he couldn’t find Natasha all morning, but that was fine because he eventually found out that she and Pepper and Bruce were having a Talk, which was a good thing. But there was still something about that coffee that Clint couldn’t shake. He didn’t know what it was, but he had a really bad feeling.

And that made him scared.

And then when he, Nat, Tony, Steve, and Bruce were all piling into a car, he nearly felt like he was going to throw up - down, panic attack, leave me alone, leave me alone. And Natasha didn’t look too flash herself, white-faced and jittery and nervous, but who could blame her? And she didn’t want Bruce there either, because “what if he got hurt?”

But Tony insisted that Bruce was more help in a fight than he looked, and so they were all heading to a club in one of Tony’s spacious and unnecessarily ostentatious cars. And Clint had known this was coming, known for weeks, but something felt off somehow.

He tried to explain it to Natasha, but she was already begging Tony to pull over, _please, I’m gonna throw up._

And she cracked the door on the street and threw up into a garden.

“Nat? Shit,” Clint could feel something growing inside him, almost like a storm cloud ballooning on the horizon of his mind, but he tried to force it down. He tried to get out and help Natasha, but found he felt too nauseous to even move.

“Have you ever heard of people getting sick before they meet their soulmate?” Clint managed to mumble, and saw Tony shake his head.

Bruce nodded, however. “Happens in war,” the man said slowly, “Clint-”

But the archer was already making his way out the door and throwing up himself, and Natasha’s lips curled slightly in amusement as Steve patted her on the back.

“You and me both, huh?” She asked, and Clint nodded, pitifully confused.

Natasha steeled as she saw Clint’s ragged breathing, the way he seemed lost, and she took his hand. _Breathe,_ she said, _breathe. It’s nearly over._

‘No,’ Clint wanted to say, ‘No, it’s not.’

But he found that he could not speak, and he nodded numbly and got into the car, Natasha in the middle this time. And she held his hand and Bruce held hers and Clint felt the buzzing static running through her veins, and didn’t have the heart to tell her that something very, very bad was about to happen. Something worse. Worse, worse, worse, worse-

 

* * *

 

Natasha saw white hair. White hair, like that intelligence website had said, and like Clint had described, and she grinned, but she still felt nervous.

Not nervous to meet her soulmate, not nervous that her soulmate was going to be shot, but nervous that something was bad, something bad was going to happen - _‘Pietro,’_ she thought, _‘I have to find him. That better be him.’_

She broke away from Clint. “Go over that way,” she told him emphatically, “Just trust me.”

But her best friend looked sick, sickness spreading, as he made his way left in the direction she’d pointed. She hadn’t told Clint his soulmate’s name. She didn’t know why.

“Excuse me,” she pushed her way through the crowd, “Pietro Maximoff?”

The man with the white hair turned, and was it possible that he and Wanda were twins?

“You… you’re Black Widow, aren’t you?” Pietro said, eyes wide and confused and even angry, angry in a way that made Natasha shrink back.

“Yes?” She asked, and he growled.

“What are you doing here? This- this isn’t how it… is it?” He swallowed, shivering, looking for someone in the crowd.

“What?” Natasha frowned, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stick up. Why didn’t she notice this before? This wasn’t supposed to happen, not like this, she shouldn’t be here.

She wasn’t supposed to be here, suddenly, and for a moment she wondered if it was too soon, but no, she _was_ supposed to be here, she just wasn’t supposed to be _here-_

“Your sister is in danger,” she managed to choke out, and the man in front of her tensed as she continued, “She’s going to be shot, she’s my soulmate. She’s going to be shot, do you understand?”

Pietro nodded, and suddenly he was gone, a crackle of blue in the air, a smudge darting through the crowd, and _oh. So that’s what his power is._

And Natasha turned, and that, right in front of her. That was what she’d seen in her dreams every night.

_‘This is where it happens,’_ she thought, but there was no Wanda in front of her, no red woman moving with the bass of the music. And then somebody tapped her on the shoulder. Natasha turned.

“Hello,” the woman grinned, and it almost stopped Natasha’s heart, but still the woman was not dancing. People around them began to count down. Wanda grabbed Natasha’s hand, asked her to come outside, but that _wasn’t how it happened, wasn’t how it was supposed to be,_ and Natasha didn’t know what went wrong until she did know, oh, god.

Pietro. She wasn’t supposed to talk to Pietro.

And she didn’t know why the universe let her, but maybe that’s why Clint was so sick. And she caught sight of her other soulmate, her best friend, at the bar, looking for her, and they made eye contact and he ran, he ran towards her, but she turned away and let herself be led into the dark, thin street outside. The flow of the universe was interrupted, incorrect, and she gave herself over to it. How did had this happened?

And Wanda said her words, said her script, just as she had in the dream, but adding “Natasha? Are you okay?”

And then Natasha could sense that Wanda, too, felt that something was wrong. Natasha heard it, the shot she’d been dreading, but Wanda turned, and there was a flash of blue, and Natasha felt so stupid. Was it her fault? Was it her fault that Clint had pushed the door open and gasped, and clutched at his throat, calling for help?

Pietro’s body lay behind Wanda, and the woman held her brother, crying, and ambulances and footsteps and more gunshots and Natasha was running, running, and gripped the gun and fired but that agent wasn’t dead, but then he was, and foaming at the mouth from the cyanide and she fell to her knees, and wished she was dead, too.

The night hadn’t gone to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next one may or may not be the last? everything will be explained in the next chapter, but you can ask questions after i post it if there's anything that isn't explained. please don't ask questions about this chapter yet, ask them when i post the next one. cool? cool. PRQ out.


	6. butterfly in the dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've waited for this, I'm ready for it, I've been waiting so long...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO! this is short and kind of bad but i hit a Massive Block over the past week or so and couldn't write anything. this is the final chapter in this AU - hope you like it, i guess? sorry if it's a bit of a letdown.

The hospital was clean, too clean, sterile, and the smell choked Clint. The quiet, in contrast with the loud shots and shouts of the hours before, was deafening.

 _‘Well,’_ Clint thought, _‘Making me deafer than I already am.’_

The beeping of the machines in front of him were necessary, he knew that, but they were a reminder of the fact that it was his soulmate here before him, his soulmate hooked up to mechanical creations. Pietro had only just come out of surgery. He was going to live, he was going to live, but Clint was still remembering the way Natasha had looked at him. How he couldn’t breathe. How he still couldn't, not properly.

Warm, salty tears ran their way out of his eyes, splattering on the white sheets. Nike logo smile - only shot in the shoulder, but the amount of _I don’t understand_ that Clint felt was indescribable. He’d dreamt about their first meeting. Night after night of a diner and vanilla milkshakes and instead he got _this,_ he got Natasha blaming herself and Steve and Tony and Bruce looking shaken and nervous and Wanda crying, crying, red leaking from her fingertips, and Clint could tell that everything was going to fall apart. In fact, it had already.

And there, in that hospital bed, the hand that Clint was holding on to was the only thing keeping him sane.

“I’m confused,” He said aloud, “Pietro. I like your name, kid. Wait, I shouldn’t call you that. That’s weird, right? Fuck, you’re so young.”

No response but the steady beeping of the heart monitor.

“I dreamt about you,” Clint struggled to get the words out of his mouth, “You weren’t supposed to be there. We were supposed to meet in a diner and you were supposed to have a milkshake. I’m… I don’t understand. Bruce said that it happens in war, a lot, because certain things like people being killed and stuff, they don’t happen or they do happen and I guess the universe gets confused. When soulmates and death are involved, everything gets mixed up. Maybe we’re living in a parallel universe, now. That might make sense. Everything seems different now, at least. Or maybe that’s just because of what happened last night.”

Clint sighed, staring downwards. The cloud that had been building had rained and now he just felt empty.

He wondered where Natasha was.

 

* * *

 

Pietro woke up soon enough.

Pietro woke up, and Clint held his hand tightly and Wanda smiled at him. Natasha (found by Wanda in the pool), Wanda, Pepper, and Bruce sat in the living room until one in the morning, talking, drinking.

And Clint took Natasha into his arms and hugged her, and cried. And then took a sip of coffee to keep him awake, and spat it out because it was fucking disgusting.

Clint knew that the coffee didn't mean anything, not this time, not when Natasha and Wanda had their hands linked and Pietro’s head was resting on his chest, white hair splayed over Clint’s shoulder.

Pietro was warm against him and the alcohol that Natasha had _definitely_ put in his coffee (no wonder it was so bad) was warming him, too.

And Pietro sleepily raised his head, still stretched over Clint on the couch, and he pressed a small kiss to the corner of Clint’s mouth. Clint felt something flutter in him like a butterfly in the dawn.

And Clint still had nightmares, but now he had even more people to get him tea and chocolate at 1 AM. What a bargain.

 

* * *

 

“Here,” Clint said one day, eyes wide.

“Barton, what the fuck are you doing?!” Tony cried, swooping past him, and the sounds of battle were all around. A kid in red swung from a building (they'd only had a brief introduction, Clint thought Tony had adopted him). Steve threw his shield, decapitating whatever the fuck they were protecting the Earth from today.

Clint felt something behind him and he drew and fired in the blink of an eye, but he was _here,_ this was it. He’d never gone looking for it, never felt the need, but Pietro would recognise it, wouldn't he?

“Babe,” Clint said into the earpiece, and Sam (upgraded from being their pizza guy now, apparently) hissed at him.

“No pet names over the comms,” Sam knocked someone (something?) out with the wing attached to him, “It’s gross, dude.”

But Pietro was already next to the archer, standing stock still (for once), staring at the diner in front of him.

“Later?” Pietro looked toward him.

“Later,” Clint nodded, smirking as Natasha knocked someone (no, definitely some _thing)_ out. With a motorbike.

 

* * *

 

Clint grinned widely. They'd managed to destroy whatever threat they'd been trying to take out (something about Kree something Krispy Kreme something something whatever who _cares_ ), and now, dead tired, they were all sitting in the diner.

“If you don't order a vanilla milkshake I’ll stab you,” Clint growled at his boyfriend.

“Hmm,” Pietro pretended to consider it, “I dunno, I’m not really in a milkshake mood.”

Clint gave him his best bitchface, and Pietro laughed.

“Fine,” Pietro smirked, still laughing, as Natasha looked on fondly.

“But,” the speedster added, “You gotta get a-”

“Black coffee, three sugars, I know,” Clint rolled his eyes melodramatically, “Like I’d forget, I have that every day.”

“So this is where…?” Sam began, trailing off. He’d missed most of the Soulmate Fiasco™, but everyone told their own versions of the stories whenever they could.

“Yep,” Clint popped the ‘p’ and glanced around, catching the eye of the waitress - who nearly dropped the coffee she was carrying when she saw who was sitting at the corner table.

“We’ll have one vanilla milkshake, and one black coffee,” Clint glanced down at the menu in his hands, “How about you guys?”

“I’m famished,” Sam grinned, and Bruce nodded in agreement.

“You didn't even do anything,” Wanda nudged Bruce, and he went a little pink.

“I never turn down food?” he shrugged, “Besides, it’s stressful, not knowing if you guys are going to finally call me out to help.”

Tony went red and choked on the water he’d been pouring down his throat. Steve thumped him on the back.

“B-bruce,” Tony managed to get out, coughing, “I thought I told you-”

“Wait…” Bruce’s eyes went wide as the waitress watched in awe, looking a little awkward.

“You- you guys don't know yet? Tony, I thought you _told_ them!” Bruce exclaimed, panicked.

“Well, I thought _you'd_ already told your…” Tony gestured vaguely to Natasha and Wanda, “Various significant others. Considering, y’know, the mechanics.”

“What are you talking about?” Pietro asked.

“Yeah, what _are_ you talking about?” Steve asked suspiciously, “Is this another reference I don't get?”

“No, no-” Bruce waved his hands around, “Uh. Let's order. Then I’ll explain.”

So they placed their orders, for everything from scotch (which they weren't _allowed_ to sell, Tony) to cranberry juice.

And so, apparently, Bruce had the ability to turn into a giant green rage monster due to radiation from some science shit Clint didn't understand. And out of everyone in their group, S.H.I.E.L.D. had chosen _Tony Stark_ to keep this secret, which was another thing Clint didn't understand.

Man, he should make a list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know your thoughts y'all. kudos and comments are Greatly Appreciated  
> PRQ out  
> *drops mic*

**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked it? leave me kudos/a comment if u love me (i love u)  
> let me know if you want more of this! it's still taking form but i'm posting this now because i live on the edge, kids


End file.
